


The Usual Poison

by klmeri



Category: Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Gen, Triumvirate story, entry for Strange New Worlds
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-14
Updated: 2016-04-14
Packaged: 2018-06-02 07:32:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,232
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6557473
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/klmeri/pseuds/klmeri
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What better way to spend the holidays than avoiding everyone? Jim Kirk finds out quickly enough that being alone is not an option, not when Spock and McCoy are around to get under his skin.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Usual Poison

**Author's Note:**

> Despite submitting this story to the Star Trek: Strange New Worlds contest with high hopes, it was not a winner. However, I put some considerable effort into rewriting one of my McSpirk works (namely, No Sad Captains Allowed) so it might become a suitable entry for the contest, and thus I believe it is worth sharing with the rest of the fandom. Enjoy the adventures of the Triumvirate!
> 
> PS - I created a Collections here at [AO3](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/st_snw_submissions) for other writers like myself who want to share what they wrote for the contest. Please feel free to post your own work in this collection.
> 
> Dedicated to **hora_tio** , who not only encouraged me to enter the contest but supported me throughout the process of crafting my story. My friend, without you I would not dare to push the boundaries of the unknown. Thank you for believing in me!

On the far side of the curved spaceport lounge, a man tipped a glass to his mouth and managed to finish his beer before he was jostled by a fresh wave of newcomers eagerly trying to get at the bar. The trained stiffness to his shoulders belied his plain civilian clothing. A group of uniformed officers at a table eyed the stranger’s back, no doubt pondering his identity. Had the haze of imported tobacco smoke and other indulgences not obscured the man’s features so well, his disguise would have been futile. He was that famous among the space-farers of his time. 

A human in equally plain clothes entered the lounge, picked out the stranger with ease, and went to him. “Is this seat taken?” he asked. 

James Kirk lifted his head and said, “What brings a man like you to a place like this?” 

The man in question filched an empty bar stool, tucking it between Kirk and a neighbor. He sat down with a wink. “What else? The pretty ladies.” 

Jim’s chin dipped towards his chest as he cracked a smile. “There’s always that.” He saluted his companion with the glass in his right hand. “Want one?” 

His friend signaled the bartender, then braced an arm against the bar’s edge. Adopting a curious tilt to his head, he took his time perusing Kirk. 

Kirk tapped a fingertip against a knife-made groove in the countertop and waited for the inevitable barrage of questions. But Leonard “Bones” McCoy surprised him by simply reaching out to give his shoulder a friendly pat before facing away to contemplate another subject, namely a long shelf lined with bottles of various shapes and sizes. 

Jim sighed softly through his nose. A comfortable silence settled between the pair until the bartender appeared. 

“I’ll have what he’s having,” McCoy said. 

“What am I having?” Kirk inquired mildly, quite familiar with this little quirk of McCoy’s. 

“Hm, something worthy of a celebration.” 

“Antarean brandy,” Jim told the bartender, who nodded and left to fill the order. 

Leonard whistled low. “You don’t go cheap, do you, Jim?” 

“I assumed you were paying.” 

They shared a laugh. 

Jim sobered a moment later, his mood vastly improved. Why, he thought, hadn’t he invited Bones to join him sooner? 

McCoy echoed that sentiment. “If I’d known you were planning to spend shore leave like this, we could have teamed up.” 

Jim studied him from the side. “You too?” 

His friend gave a slight shrug. “It’s not like we’re on Earth, and I hardly know the folks in this quadrant—at least, no one I would be willing to look up.” 

Kirk nodded. 

The bartender returned with a gourd-shaped bottle and poured their brandy into two small tumblers. The liquor was of a hue not unlike the color of Saurian brandy but the Antarean distillation had a distinctly different smell and taste. Jim took a sip and recoiled in surprise since the brew was far tangier than he had anticipated. He decided it must be of a young age. 

McCoy, on the other hand, downed his share at once and looked surprised afterwards that there hadn’t been more. Jim just shook his head and motioned for the bartender to give McCoy a refill and leave the bottle with them. 

“The whole thing?” Leonard sounded delighted. “Why, Jim, thank you, and happy shore leave to me!” 

“My pleasure,” Jim replied, meaning it. One of his hands found Leonard’s wrist and gave it a brief squeeze. “I’d buy you a case for all that you’ve done for me this past year but,” he tacked on somewhat mischievously, “I’m in a position that I would have to report you for it.” 

“Oh, please,” the doctor scoffed. “I’ve heard that rumor about a ‘secret cabinet’ installed in your quarters. A pot doesn’t need to argue with a kettle about its color.” 

“I have no idea what you’re talking about, Bones,” came the dry response. 

Leonard muttered something under his breath which Kirk pretended he could not hear. 

“So,” Kirk’s friend went on to say after they both took another swallow of brandy, “what’s on your agenda besides brooding in every bar on the strip?” 

“Who said I intended to brood?” 

“Didn’t you?” 

Damn, caught. “I’m supporting the local businesses. It’s charitable work.” 

“It’s your right,” agreed McCoy, “but it sure sounds lonely. You could’ve invited Spock.” 

“The commander prefers to stay shipside. You know that.” 

“Do I?” questioned Leonard, looking thoughtful. “Seems to me when he is up there and you’re down here, he may look occupied but he’s actually pondering what you are up to.” 

“That would be how you occupy yourself, not Spock.” 

“Hey, he and I think alike sometimes.” 

Kirk laughed. “Now that,” he emphasized, “is the best thing I’ve heard all day. You think like a Vulcan!” 

McCoy grimaced. “I was making a point.” 

Jim made a show of searching his pockets. “Where did I put my comm?” 

The man shook his finger in warning at Jim. “Don’t you dare!” 

Kirk played innocence. “Dare to do what, Bones? Call up my First Officer and check on my ship?” 

McCoy glared at him. “You’re a devil, Jim Kirk, and you know it. The last thing I need is Spock and his smug face in my medbay congratulating me on my graduation to a higher level of thinking. I’d have to avenge my honor, and then where would you be? I’ll tell you where!” the man snapped in the next breath. “Less a pair of senior officers!” 

“That would be a shame indeed,” Jim replied, struggling not to smile, “since it would take an ungodly amount of paperwork to fill your positions.” 

Leonard harrumphed and turned partly away, opting to down another shot of brandy in lieu of responding. A moment later, his expression turned somber. “I’m not here to chitchat about that know-it-all anyway.” He glanced at Kirk. “Jim...” 

That tone always inspired a sense of dread in Kirk. It usually led to McCoy cornering him into facing a truth he would rather ignore. Leonard didn’t do it out of spite but that hardly made the experience more palatable. Jim said somewhat accusingly, “I thought you came here for the company.” 

McCoy nodded and twisted his tumbler around in his hands. 

Jim watched him for a while before pushing his own drink away and bracing his forearms against the bar counter. “Spit it out, Bones.” 

“Yesterday I received a communiqué from Winona.” McCoy faced him. “Peter’s been released from Starfleet Medical.” 

Jim tensed. “You heard from my mother?” 

Leonard met the suspicion with calm and had the gall not to answer the question directly. “Jim, she was worried when she couldn’t reach you. For your sake, I told her you’ve been so busy lately you can’t tell up from down.” 

Jim locked his hands together to keep from doing something he might regret. 

Leonard gave him a knowing look. “You’re angry.” 

“Very,” he stated flatly. 

“Why?” 

“What I do or don’t do is my business, never mind the fact that making excuses for me is not your job.” His agitation increased. “And why would my mother contact you?” 

“That’s unkind,” Leonard chastened him. “I talk to her plenty.” 

It must have been Jim’s imagination but the bar seemed to tilt a little. “You what?” 

Leonard pursed his mouth. “I said I talk to—” 

“I heard you the first time, McCoy.” He demanded, “Explain.” 

McCoy sat back with a snort. “Well, sorry, Captain. Who I talk to isn’t your business.” 

Jim inhaled once, then exhaled noisily in a snort of his own. “All right,” he conceded. “I deserved that.” 

“Darn right you did.” 

Out of habit, Kirk rubbed the side of his thumb against his eyebrow. “Bones...” He couldn’t think of what he wanted to say so he settled for “How long?” 

“Since Deneva,” Leonard remarked softly. 

Jim looked away, then, and picked up his glass. Maybe he needed another shot of that brandy after all. Unfortunately, Bones had set the bottle out of reach. 

Jim thought on that for a second longer and concluded something he didn’t like. “You already know, don’t you?” 

“I have a hunch but I can’t say I know for certain unless you talk to me.” 

And that was what this friendly run-in was about, wasn’t it? concluded Jim. 

Mood soured, he raised his hand to gain the attention of the bartender before digging around in a pocket for his credit chip. He informed McCoy glumly, “If I had wanted to see a shrink on my vacation, I would have made an appointment with one. Thanks for the company.” 

“Jim.” The man put a restraining hand on Kirk’s shoulder to keep him seated. “I’m not here as your doctor.” 

“You could have fooled me.” That was mean, but Jim had no desire to apologize for it. He offered the chip to the bartender for the tab, including the nearly full bottle of Antarean brandy he had lost a taste for. 

“Jim, I’m not trying to corner you. Sit down.” 

“I have somewhere to be.” 

“No, you don’t.” 

“Enough, Bones,” Kirk ordered, exasperated. “There’s nothing to talk about. Enjoy your leave. I’ll see you at boarding.” 

“Take a look at yourself!” the doctor called to Jim's back as he walked away. “Is your grief worth pushing away the ones who are still here?” 

Jim didn’t answer that. Couldn’t. 

Leave it to Bones to stir up the very emotions he had come to this place to bury. It was ironic, Kirk would realize later, that he couldn’t fault McCoy for it, despite how much he hated the shame that had been churned up inside him. 

He kept walking, pretending that he could not hear McCoy calling his name over the din of the lounge. From the corner of his eye, he glimpsed a man in a dark, insignia-less uniform angling towards him. At the last second, the fellow turned just enough that his shoulder deliberately aimed straight at Kirk’s. Jim neatly dodged the impact, heard the man sputter and cry “Hey, you!” but had already decided that getting into an altercation wasn’t worth losing what little peace he had left to enjoy. 

Take a look at himself, Bones had said. Jim had no desire to, and even less desire to be cornered into doing so. Leonard McCoy—friend, physician, or whatever he thought he was trying to be—would just have to wait a while longer. 

~~~ 

The bedside table’s holographic display came alive and announced cheerfully that Kirk had an incoming call. As he groaned beneath a heap of covers and snaked out a hand to fumble for his personal communicator, he regretted having linked the damn thing to the intercom unit instead of silencing it. 

The cheery display kept insisting that he pick up his incoming call; so it was with the foul mood of a person who had intended to ignore the universe that Jim flipped open the comm and answered tersely, “What?” 

Immediately regretful, he tacked on a belated “Kirk here” to soften the impact. His caller wasn't to blame for his ire. Circumstance had conspired against him last night: between memories that still had the power to hurt and a stomach which had bothered him intermittently, he had fallen into an exhausted sleep long after the chronometer indicated that a new solar-cycle had begun. 

A level, familiar voice greeted him. “Captain, I apologize for the disturbance.” 

Jim sat up without thinking about it, drawing one leg under him. “Spock?” His Vulcan second-in-command had no reason to contact him unless... Half a dozen unpleasant scenarios flashed through Kirk’s mind. “What’s happened? My ship?” 

He threw back his bedcovers to search for his pants. 

“The ship and those who remained aboard are faring well. Also, the engineering upgrades are nearly complete.” 

Jim froze in the act of shoving a foot through a leg-hole. He said more calmly but with increased intensity, “Then what’s this about, Mr. Spock? I’m on vacation.” 

There was no need to be physically near the Vulcan to know that Spock had just raised his eyebrows. Jim heard it in the slight pause that came before the reply, “...Sir, I am well-aware of your current schedule.” 

Kirk narrowed his eyes. Just how aware did Spock mean? Did he know that his captain had found an obscure little hostel inside the station in which to hide from a certain meddlesome doctor? 

“However, it would be prudent of you to return to the ship to undergo medical examination.” 

That was absurd! A little stomachache didn’t—wait a minute, Spock couldn’t know about his stomachache. 

Jim decided to play it cool. “You’re joking with me.” 

“I assure you, Vulcans do not joke.” 

“I feel fine.” That was mostly true. His stomachache was gone. “And I’m on vacation,” he reiterated. How many times did he have to stress this one fact? 

“I deduced the former in a matter of seconds, Captain. Regretfully, in an unfortunate turn of events, Dr. McCoy has taken ill from something he imbibed while in your presence. He claims you shared the substance with him, therefore you are at risk. Coming from the Doctor, the argument was quite logical, leading me to believe his condition is far worse than what was reported to me by the medical assistant on duty.” 

“Bones is sick?” Jim finished pulling on his pants and reached for a boot. “How ill?” 

There came an unusually long pause. Then, “I am to inform you that he is in the throes of death.” 

Jim straightened up. “Is he there with you?” 

“Affirmative.” 

Spock’s voice was overlaid by one that was infinitely crankier: “Jim, don’t leave me here to die with a Vulcan at my bedside. I need a warm, human hand to hold, not these icy appendages—” 

The voice switched to a chastising version of Spock’s. “Doctor, this device is not a toy. You are feverish. Please remain still. I will relay your message to the Captain... Doctor.” The Vulcan’s voice had cracked. “You must let go of my hand.” 

Jim held the communicator away from him and bit his lip over it for a long moment. Then he brought it close again. “Mr. Spock?” 

“Captain?” 

“Ready the transporter.” 

Spock’s relief was evident in his “Aye, Captain.” 

Jim sighed, ended the communication, and went in search of the rest of his outfit. 

~~~ 

Leonard McCoy jabbed his finger in the air and wagged his head back and forth against his pillow. “You!” he accused the approaching Kirk. “You did this to me!” 

Having completed his escort duty, Spock lingered in the open archway to Sickbay’s recovery room looking like he longed to be elsewhere. Jim dismissed the commander with a wave, who barely completed a nod before he disappeared into the adjoining corridor. 

Jim had to wonder what McCoy had done to the Vulcan in the interim to cause him to flee so hastily. 

“Hobgoblin. I was dyin’,” grumbled the patient nonsensically. 

Jim came to a halt beside a biobed and gazed down at the peakish-looking man. “Bones,” he questioned, both concerned and irritated, “how much of that brandy did you have?” 

McCoy made a face. “You bought it, not me.” Then he rubbed a hand over his stomach and whimpered. “Why am I the only one suffering?” 

Jim pulled up a chair. “Was it that bad?” 

“I’ll live,” his friend said dully, “although for a while there it felt like I would have been better off dead.” 

Jim felt guilty. 

Leonard sighed. “Jim, are you sure you’re feeling all right?” 

“I do now. I went to bed with a stomachache,” he admitted. “It cleared up.” He had also had a migraine at the time but saw no point in mentioning that since the cause of said migraine was sitting in front of him. 

McCoy sighed again and fidgeted with the blanket over his torso, his gaze skipping restlessly around the room. 

“Do you need an attendant?” Jim asked, starting to rise from his chair. 

The doctor dropped his voice to a whisper. “What I need is to get out of here.” 

Jim sat down again and just looked at him. 

“Jim,” McCoy said with a hint of pleading, “help an old man out.” 

Kirk leaned back and crossed his arms. “Turnabout is fair play.” 

“That’s different! Half the time you need to be in here. I’m only a little dehydrated now...” When McCoy saw that his argument hadn’t budged his captain an inch, he relented. “All right. Fine. I’ll grant you a free pass for next time.” 

Jim lifted one hand and held up two fingers. 

“Two?!” cried the doctor, outraged. When one of the medical staff poked her head into the room, the man subdued himself and attempted to give the appearance of weakness. 

Jim turned his head to the crewman and remarked good-naturedly, “Hello there, Nurse. I think Dr. McCoy’s ready for his next round of shots.” 

“Jim!” 

Kirk merely smiled and held up two fingers again. 

McCoy hissed fiercely from between clenched teeth, “You’re the devil himself. Two passes—but no more, and I have the right to say no if I think your life is in danger.” 

“Deal,” Jim agreed, and they shook on it. “Now... how fast can you run?” 

~~~ 

Escaping from Sickbay was an ordeal when McCoy was thrown into the mix. He argued with every tactic Jim had, and he thought wearing a disguise was silly. Jim told him that in order to fool the natives, one had to dress like the natives. Leonard shot back that they weren’t on a mission to infiltrate a pre-warp society, and he was a doctor already for god’s sake! 

In the end, they managed to bungle their way to the outer doors of Sickbay and—in that moment having been spotted by a confounded Assistant CMO—bolted the rest of the way to the nearest turbolift. McCoy’s legs gave out after that, and Jim carted him the remaining distance on his back. 

“This is embarrassing,” the man had complained, both of his arms secured around Kirk’s neck. 

“No, it’s painful,” Jim panted in reply, for his aching back muscles reminded him that he was no longer a young man. 

It was closer to the Captain’s quarters than McCoy’s and so that was where Kirk went in short order, staggering to his couch to off-load his burden. When Jim clutched at his lower back and groaned, Leonard simply poked his side and said impishly, “We should do that again.” 

“Not unless I absolutely have to,” he countered, taking a seat beside McCoy. “You’re a free man now. Happy?” 

Leonard looked around. “So this is what it feels like to be an escapee.” His gaze returned to Kirk. “But I’m not feeling as euphoric as I should. Why do you think that is? Maybe because I didn’t have a Vulcan partner-in-crime like you normally do.” 

Jim laughed. “Spock is very handy at distracting you.” 

The doctor’s face lit up. “I knew it! Nobody wants to discuss in detail the side effects of a Rigellan pox vaccination! I thought he was humoring me because my research paper received an accolade.” 

“Oh, he was probably interested, Bones. Spock is a scientist after all.” 

The pair chuckled and settled back against the couch. Jim noticed that McCoy had tucked his hands between his knees. He inquired, concerned again, “Cold?” 

“Might be a little nippy in here.” 

He asked the ship’s computer to raise the cabin temperature and retrieved a blanket from his bedroom. “You know,” he remarked as he tucked it over the doctor’s legs, “I’m still mad at you.” 

“Why?” Leonard wanted to know, his blue eyes glinting with humor. “You’re lucky I ran you off when I did, otherwise you might be in the same condition.” 

“Good point.” Jim sat down again. “Tell me what happened.” 

“I finished another third of the bottle like an idiot and passed out. Since the bartender couldn’t rouse me, he called the port authorities. I assume they identified me and contacted the ship.” Leonard shook his head. “I’m sure Spock loved that: ‘Your Chief Medical Officer’s drunk. Come and get him.’ I woke up to a case of induced vomiting. Apparently the toxicology report relayed something more worrying than a case of alcohol poisoning.” 

“I didn’t think Antarean brandy was that rough on the human constitution.” 

“It shouldn’t be,” Leonard agreed, not adding anything further. “How about a game of chess?” 

Jim studied the way the man’s head kept nodding forward. “Don’t you think you should rest?” He direly needed some sleep himself. 

“I’m a doctor,” murmured McCoy. “I know what I need better than anyone.” 

Jim huffed softly. “It was a suggestion, Bones, not a criticism.” He stood up, intending to locate an extra pillow for McCoy’s use when his cabin door chimed. 

Leonard blinked awake and craned his head around the back of the couch. When the chime sounded again, he said, “Oh no.” 

Kirk also knew what that chime meant. “We can’t avoid it. Computer, override lock.” 

The door slid back, and the light from the corridor cast a long, thin shadow across the floor of Kirk's quarters. Hands clasped behind his back, Spock entered, saying, “Captain,” and stopped short when he saw that Kirk had company. 

“Hello there,” McCoy said, as if nothing could possibly be wrong with the picture he and Kirk made. 

Spock rounded the couch and practically loomed over the doctor. 

“Cat got your tongue, Mr. Spock?” Leonard prompted when the Vulcan had still failed to speak. 

“...Doctor.” 

“Mr. Spock,” Leonard repeated, amused. 

Jim didn’t know which one he wanted to chastise more. He settled on, “Bones.” 

Spock transferred his stare to Jim. “Why is Dr. McCoy not in Sickbay?” 

Huh, thought Jim. Was that a challenge? 

McCoy made a disrespectful noise. “Don’t let him intimidate you, Jim. We knew he would disapprove.” 

Yes, Jim had seen Spock’s disapproval often enough to recognize it but rarely was it aimed at him. He resisted the urge to fidget like a child who had been caught by a parent breaking a rule. 

Casting about for a reasonable excuse, he explained, “We were thinking that Bones would recover more comfortably in his own quarters. But of course—” he added quickly before Spock could respond, “—I was adamant that he come here instead so I could keep an eye on him.” 

Leonard was nodding along and even went so far as to drag the blanket covering his legs up towards his chin. “I’m very comfortable.” 

Spock said nothing for a long minute. 

Jim was about to offer a blustering apology when the Vulcan’s shoulders lowered a fraction and Spock announced, “Very well.” 

Leonard whooped. 

Jim nearly rolled his eyes at McCoy’s reaction. “I’m thinking I might have been duped. You’re very energetic for a sick man, Bones.” 

“We just won an argument with a Vulcan. If that isn’t something to celebrate, I don’t know what is!” 

Jim choked back a laugh. Spock merely blinked. 

“Enough,” Kirk said when he saw that McCoy was about to make some other embarrassing quip. “Regardless of how it appears, your concern is appreciated, Mr. Spock. What can I do for you?” 

Spock released his hands from behind his back, revealing that in one of them he carried a small carafe. Curious, Jim reached for it. 

But Spock did not let Kirk have it. “You would not want to partake of this bottle’s contents, Captain. It contains the remnants of the drink you shared with Dr. McCoy. I analyzed it.” 

Leonard sat forward. “It’s a fake, isn’t it? I knew it!” 

“Not entirely, Doctor. It does contain the main ingredients of Antarean brandy and appears to have been brewed accordingly. Otherwise I suspect your first taste would have been your last.” 

“It was laced, then,” Kirk surmised. “With what?” 

“A variant of the Borgia species native to M-113.” 

“You’re kidding,” said McCoy, who came off the couch. His good humor had vanished. 

“M-113?” Kirk questioned sharply, recalling all too well what had occurred on that planet with the salt creature. 

“I believe the variant is more commonly referred to as nightshade, Captain. The plant produces a potent alkaloid that is poisonous to humans.” 

Leonard stated flatly, “The concentration must have been abnormally small. If not, I would have been dead before anyone realized it.” 

Jim paled at the thought. 

Spock concurred gravely, “That is precisely why I have brought this to the Captain, Dr. McCoy. I would like to formally request an investigation.” 

Leonard pointed at the carafe. “And there’s your probable cause.” 

“I’ll open the official channels,” Jim said with a decisive nod. 

Spock handed Jim the carafe, and Jim placed it on the corner of his desk behind the wall partition. Leonard lowered himself back to the couch and drew the blanket over his legs again. He looked so abruptly tired that Kirk had no doubt McCoy’s bout of illness had truly taxed him. 

Death, Jim thought again, and swallowed hard. “Bones, lay down.” 

McCoy huffed. “Is that an order or a request?” 

“An order from a concerned friend,” Jim said. “Rest. We have nowhere to be.” Even as he said that, he glanced surreptitiously at Spock, thinking that in fact there was somewhere else they should be. 

Kirk waited until he and Spock had started a game of chess and McCoy’s breathing evened out before he acted on his impulse. Then he set down the black knight in his hand and asked quietly, “Do you have any business to take care of for the next few hours?” 

Spock seemed unsurprised. “Negative, Captain.” 

Jim stood. “Then join me for a drink, Mr. Spock.” 

“I presume it will be likely that the venue could serve us poison.” 

“Yes, there is that possibility.” Jim glanced at their sleeping friend. He wanted answers and wasn’t necessarily willing to wait for them. “I’ll send an initial report to Command, and then we’ll go.” 

Spock came to his feet as well. “And I shall make the request that Dr. M'Benga monitor Dr. McCoy’s condition in our absence.” 

Kirk nodded, began to move toward the computer console at his desk and paused. “Spock,” he said, “you’ll need to wear something a little less—” He indicated the Starfleet uniform. “—conspicuous.” 

The Vulcan tilted his head ever-so-slightly. He only replied, “We will reconvene in Transporter Room 2,” and left. 

~~~ 

Kirk stopped his Vulcan companion under the flickering holo-image of the spaceport lounge’s name and said, “You go first.” 

Spock raised an eyebrow in a silent question. 

Jim plucked at his jacket and remarked dryly, “Even in these civvies, we look like a pair of officers. Better to separate for the time being. I’ll circle the port and meet you inside.” 

The Vulcan tucked his hands into the sleeves of his long robe. “I see no need to disseminate, Jim. We are off-duty, and I am here at your invitation.” 

Jim considered that. “All right,” he agreed after a moment. Still, it seemed smarter to let Spock lead the way inside. 

They settled on a circular booth along the back wall which gave them the best vantage point of the comings and goings of the lounge. Jim observed that there was not much of a crowd. Since the lounge was located on a station that hovered at the border of the Alpha and Beta quadrants, it should have fairly regular traffic at all hours and rarely want for customers; but oddly this place was hardly more than half-full, with most of its occupants scattered about in solitary fashion as Jim had been the evening prior. That, coupled with the distinct lack of waiters, raised a red alert at the back of his neck. 

Jim slid to the edge of the booth. “What do you want?” 

Spock replied rather blandly, “As you humans are fond of saying, surprise me.” 

Kirk couldn’t help but grin. “I’ll try my best, Mr. Spock.” 

When Jim arrived at the end of the bar, he flicked a finger at the bartender, who came over at a languid pace. It was fortuitous, Jim decided, that the person currently working wasn’t the same person from the night shift. On the other hand, as Jim caught a flash of pointed teeth, this bartender appeared more formidable than the guy before him. 

“One house beer,” he said, “and one Antarean brandy.” 

The slits in the bartender’s face, which might have served as nostrils on someone more humanoid in appearance, flared. “Brandy’s out of stock.” 

Had the lounge only had one bottle? That made no sense. “Every kind?” Kirk questioned casually. 

“Two beers,” decided the bartender, who turned away. 

“No,” he refused. 

When the bartender turned back, the expression on his face said he had little to no patience for ornery customers. 

Kirk cleared his throat. “One beer and one… tea,” he finished weakly. 

The bartender’s gaze lingered over Kirk’s shoulder for slightly too long. Then he said, almost offhand, “Got a blend from Vulcan.” 

“That’ll do,” Jim agreed. 

At the table, to Spock he said, “The brandy’s gone.” 

“Interesting—and an unlikely coincidence.” 

“I thought so too.” 

Spock removed a small personal padd from his robe and activated it. When Jim lifted up his glass, the Vulcan requested, “A moment, Jim.” 

Kirk eyed the device. “Is that…?” 

“A suitable substitute for a science tricorder.” A minute later, Spock reported, “I detect nothing abnormal in the molecular structure of your beverage. You may proceed. My tea, however… most interesting.” 

Having heard the word ‘interesting’ twice from Spock in a short span of time, Jim's uneasy feeling grew. “What is it?” 

“Not what it appears to be.” Spock looked at him. “Judging from the analysis, the tea is an imperfect copy of the particular blend of leaves which should comprise it. But that is not what I find of interest, Jim.” 

Jim wrapped his hands around his beer. 

“The tea is traditional, made from one of the rarest vegetations on Vulcan, and not something which any merchant would readily barter during trade.” 

“In other words, it’s expensive.” 

“I would like to know how this establishment came into possession of it.” 

“We may have stumbled upon black market merchandise, Spock.” 

Spock placed his padd aside and steepled his fingers. “If these replications are indeed the product of an illicit trade, then the buyer has significantly overpaid for their quality. It would be reasonable to assume he has a method for verifying the authenticity of his purchases; yet if these are examples of the current stock, I must question their intended purpose.” 

“We’ll derive nothing more until we have a look at their stores, Spock.” 

“Jim,” the Vulcan said in warning. 

Jim stiffened. 

The person approaching their table was the bartender who, it appeared, had abandoned his post to pay them a personal visit. “Not like your drink?” the bartender inquired, stopping about an arm's length away. 

Jim forced a polite smile. “It’s fine.” 

The bartender scratched at the side of his short neck with one of his claws. He considered Kirk through a narrowed gaze. “Can’t let it be said service is bad.” Baring his teeth in what was more of a threat than a grin, he pointed at their drinks. “On the house.” 

“That is generous,” said Spock. “We offer thanks.” 

With a rumbling snort, the bartender left them alone. 

Jim lost his smile. “He wanted us to know we're being watched.” 

“To what purpose?” 

“Wish I knew, Spock.” 

“Perhaps,” the Vulcan offered in a soft tone, “your assessment was correct after all. He knows who we are.” 

“Even if he only suspected, he does have cause to be wary,” Jim pointed out. “McCoy was identified as Starfleet, after all.” 

“Quite logical, Jim.” 

Jim just nodded. He pretended to sip his beer and gave some thought to what they could accomplish now that they were under close surveillance. The conclusion was disheartening: short of announcing their identities and demanding cooperation—which was certain to end in a stalled investigation once the owner demanded a warrant or a directive from Starfleet Command—they had lost the fight before it had hardly begun. 

Kirk was about to relay this to Spock and request alternatives when his luck changed. 

“It's the same one,” he said in surprise, watching as a newcomer nodded to the bartender and crossed the lounge. A moment later, the fellow disappeared through a side door at the end of the bar. 

“Jim?” Spock questioned. 

“Someone I ran into yesterday—or rather someone who ran into me.” Jim drummed his fingers against the table. “I have a hunch.” He moved as if to leave the booth. “Distract that bartender for me.” 

Spock’s dark eyes tracked his movements closely. “How long do you require?” 

“If I’m not back in ten minutes, alert the port magistrate.” His hand brushed against the inner pocket of his jacket where his communicator was hidden. “If I can hang on to my communicator, you should be able to locate me.” 

Spock didn’t argue with him but he didn’t look as though he agreed with the plan either. 

Kirk tried to placate him. “You have my word I won’t act carelessly, Mr. Spock.” 

“You have precisely ten minutes, Captain.” 

Jim suppressed a smile and headed for the men’s bathroom. He veered off at the last second, watching Spock approach the bar from the corner of his eye, and skirted along the wall until he came to the side door. He pushed through and found himself standing in a hallway crowded with crates and loose packaging. Carefully picking his way along, he followed the sounds of voices. 

Near the end of the hall, a loud argument was taking place behind a closed door. Kirk stopped there and listened, but the language was not Standard and he didn’t have a universal translator on hand. He moved on to the last door and studied its adjoining key pad. When he waved his hand in front of the pad, the door slid back. What kind of idiot, Kirk thought as he stepped over the threshold, didn’t secure their storeroom? 

The answer was that no idiot did. Kirk froze at the same time a pair of men playing some sort of table game looked up and saw him. 

Their staring contest lasted all of three seconds. 

Jim joked, “I guess this isn’t the bathroom.” 

“Get him!” one of the men thundered, reaching for a plasma rifle that was easily recognizable as an illegal firearm in all four quadrants. 

Deciding a retreat was in order, Kirk had a moment to think that Spock would see him much sooner than expected, although the Vulcan probably wouldn’t be pleased about the armed ruffians that came with him. It was only fair to send a warning. 

He dug out his comm, flipped it open as he turned to run, and announced, “Incoming!” 

~~~ 

Kirk barreled out of the side door and into the lounge with four people on his tail and a shot of plasma arching past his head. The blast hit one of the archaic fans attached to the ceiling and melted through half its blades. A majority of the lounge’s occupants reacted by diving for cover. 

Jim used the edge of the bar as leverage to swing himself up and over the counter. He landed on his side on the floor and quickly discovered that he wasn’t the only one who had chosen to use the bar as a shield. The bartender, crouched at the opposite end, hissed at him. 

Another blast burned a hole through the middle of the bar. The bartender fled around the corner. Jim cursed, grabbed an opaque bottle, and using the mirrored wall behind him as a guide, pitched it over the counter at the man with the rifle. It made contact with the man’s shoulder, and the rifle was jerked ceiling-wards. Another fan dissolved. 

Someone flung himself over the counter at Kirk, then, but froze abruptly in mid-descent and let out a shriek of surprise as he was manhandled backwards. Spying his rescuer in the mirror, Jim grabbed another bottle off the shelf and popped up, launching it at the man with the rifle approaching Spock from behind. The bottle nailed him in the chest. Spinning gracefully to the side, Spock caught his attacker by the arm and pinched him between the juncture of shoulder and neck. The Vulcan let him crumple to the floor and reached for Kirk, helping to haul his captain over the other unconscious body draped across the counter. 

“Those two,” Jim said, pointing towards the pair left standing alone across the room. 

At the sound of yelling from Kirk’s pursuers, the men had hurried from a room which, according to Jim’s fleeting glance as he fled down the hallway, looked like an office. One of them was the person in dark clothing whom Jim had recognized earlier. The other one was also human but older, grey-haired—and more panicked about the ongoing brawl than the others, if his expression was any indication. 

“Told you they were ‘Fleet,” growled the young man. “I’ll take care of ‘em.” 

It didn’t take much stretch of Kirk’s imagination to picture how he and Spock were to be taken care of. But why did this guy have a grudge against Starfleet? 

A movement from the corner of Jim’s eye caught his attention. He barely had time to cry a warning before the bartender, finally making his reappearance, grabbed a stool and swung it overhead as he rushed at them from the side. Spock turned to meet him. 

Kirk cursed himself a moment later for making the mistake of being distracted as his face nearly met with a fist. He ducked and leapt at the man who had rushed at him, throwing them both back against the bar. They grappled and rolled, taking out the few remaining stools and a tray of empty pitchers. It took a double-punch to get his assailant off him. 

The man shook off the hits and spat to the side with undisguised scorn. “You didn’t fool me, Captain.” 

“Who said I was trying?” Kirk retorted. 

The man had an ugly laugh. “It’s my lucky day. My boss will shower me with riches when he hears I rid the galaxy of Captain Kirk!” 

Making enemies was an unfortunate side-effect of his job, so Kirk was hardly surprised to hear about someone who had a grudge against him. What interested him more was the unstated admission that this man wasn't employed here like the others evidently were. Where had he come from? Who did he work for, and what unsavory business had brought him to this particular spaceport? 

Wondering just how much he could find out, Jim countered the claim with an arrogance that was certain to rile his opponent. “Tell me your boss’s name and I’ll send him my regards while you’re on your way to prison. 

On cue, the man charged him—and stopped short when Spock blocked his path to Kirk, plasma rifle in hand. 

“I highly recommend,” the Vulcan stated calmly, “that you surrender.” 

Kirk blinked and looked around. In the middle of the room, beside a ruined table, he spotted the bartender tied back-to-back to the grey-haired human, both of them unconscious. 

Jim frowned. “When did you have time to do that?” 

Instead of answering, Spock asked, referencing the subdued party, including the man now on his knees with his hands behind his head, “How shall we proceed, Captain?” 

Jim stepped out from behind the Vulcan and placed his hands on his hips. “Assault of a Starfleet officer is a Federation offense. There is only one course of action, Mr. Spock. Have them transported to the brig. Then I think it’s time you and I had a little chat with the officer in charge of this port.” 

Without ceremony, Spock opened his communicator and contacted the Enterprise. 

~~~ 

As Kirk and Spock materialized on the pad, an angry-looking man was admitted to the Transporter Room. 

McCoy always had impeccable timing, Jim noted wryly. “Bones,” he greeted the doctor, moving down the platform steps to the deck, “what a pleasant surprise! We weren’t expecting a welcome home.” 

“Welcome home, my sainted aunt. You,” said McCoy with clear agitation as he stabbed a finger in Kirk’s direction before pointing it at Spock next, “and you are the two biggest knuckleheads I’ve ever had the misfortune to lay eyes on!” His shout startled the nearby tech into jumping back. “What in blazes possessed y’all to go back there!” 

A line formed between Spock’s eyebrows. “Doctor—” 

Jim sighed. “Who told you?” 

“Nobody has to tell me a damn thing! I guessed it as soon as I woke up!” 

The tech fixed his gaze on the transporter console and looked like he was pretending to have hearing problems. Jim couldn’t blame him. He went to McCoy and steered the riled doctor hastily towards the exit. McCoy fussed the entire way, not quite resisting Kirk’s leash yet making it plain he wouldn’t be mollified by a few words and a gentling touch. Spock trailed behind them with an air of long-suffering. 

Once the three men were completely alone in a turbolift, Kirk commanded the lift to pause between decks and turned to McCoy. “All right,” he said. “Let us have it.” 

Spock started to protest, “Captain, I see no reason why—” 

Jim lifted a hand, and the Vulcan commander immediately fell silent. Watching his CMO, Kirk waited. 

“You’ve done a lot of reckless things over the years, Captain, but this is by far one of the most foolhardy.” 

“If I do it so often, why are you surprised?” Jim countered. 

“I’m not surprised,” the man snapped back. 

“I see,” he said. “So you’re angry because…” He deliberately let the sentence trail off. 

“Because,” McCoy started to finish, then stopped, flustered all of a sudden. 

Jim bit back a smile and crossed his arms over his chest. “I’ll tell you why, Bones. You’re angry because we didn’t take you with us.” 

Leonard choked. 

Spock cocked his head. “Interesting.” 

“Yes, quite interesting, Mr. Spock,” Kirk agreed. “Now, Dr. McCoy, you can certainly continue your argument on the way to Sickbay—Spock and I won’t even interrupt you—or you can come back to my quarters for dinner and let bygones be bygones.” 

“That’s blackmail,” accused Leonard, eyeing him irritably. 

Jim laid a hand on the man’s shoulder. “I only want what is best for you. You weren’t in any condition to fight this particular battle with us, Bones, but rest assured we will gladly share the details of our adventure.” 

Leonard pursed his mouth and bounced once, indecisively, on the balls of his feet. Then, instead of answering Kirk directly, he glanced sideways at the Vulcan beside him and remarked, “I suppose Jim didn’t handle things the quiet way.” 

“He handled the situation in the only manner in which he is capable.” 

McCoy snorted. 

Kirk looked between them, gaze narrowed. “What are you two implying?” 

“I’ll accept that dinner invitation,” McCoy decided, and indicated the turbolift’s blinking light. “Better get us moving, Jim-boy. Somebody’s bound to wonder what stalled this contraption.” 

Somehow, he had won and lost this battle at the same time. With a shake of his head, Jim ordered the ship’s computer to resume normal operation of the lift and decided not to ponder the matter too closely, lest he have to acknowledge just how well McCoy and Spock did know him. 

~~~ 

The evening meal wrapped up with easy conversation and a chess rematch to make up for Kirk and Spock’s unfinished game. McCoy sat yawning on the couch while they played but he claimed that he wasn’t tired enough to fall asleep. 

“I’ll do that in my own quarters this time,” he informed Kirk and Spock. 

“Fine by me,” Jim replied, moving a pawn up one level. 

“I will escort you there, Doctor, when you are ready,” Spock offered. 

Leonard sniffed. “You must be feeling guilty for upsetting me, Spock.” 

“Guilt implies wrong-doing,” contended the Vulcan, “when to the contrary our actions were quite successful.” 

“True,” Kirk agreed. “We confiscated the entire bar stock and handed over the lounge owner to the local merchants’ guild for reprimand. It also may be that we saved someone a fate worse than yours, Bones.” 

“Only an idiot believes a man selling snake oil,” McCoy said in disgust. “How can any businessman who purchases his inventory at half-price not think to ask for an authorized distribution license or certificates of origin from his supplier? You’re more than right, Jim. Somebody could have died because of that man’s incompetence!” 

Spock completed his turn on the game board. “Rest assured the owner will make his reparations.” 

“And will never be licensed to sell goods to the public again.” Jim rubbed thoughtfully at his chin. “He said the supplier went by the alias Fenton. Why does that name sound familiar?” 

“Oh, how I’d like to get my hands on that one too!” McCoy exclaimed. 

“Another day, another time,” Kirk assured his team. He grinned as he moved his King into place. “Checkmate, Mr. Spock.” 

Spock merely raised an eyebrow and reached over to move another of his chess pieces. 

Propping his chin up in his hand, Leonard predicted, “Spock’s going to win.” 

“Traitor,” Jim declared. 

Determined not be outmaneuvered by his second-in-command or psychologically manipulated by his senior medical officer, Kirk hunkered closer to the board as if to prepare for any surprise attacks by Spock’s pawns. On the opposite side of the room, his desk’s comm console beeped and interrupted his concentration. 

“Engineering to Capt’n Kirk.” 

Pressing his mouth flat, Jim warned Spock (and thereby McCoy) as he stood up, “Do not move anything on this board.” 

Leonard snickered. 

Kirk strode over to his desk and answered, “Kirk here.” 

“Capt’n, the upgrades have been installed. Do ye want to come doun for our final test?” 

His Chief of Engineering was asking out of courtesy, which Jim appreciated, as he did want to see the new system in action. On the other hand… Casting a look of longing at the game, he thought of the victory soon to be his. 

McCoy flapped a hand at him in dismissal. “Go on, Jim. We won’t touch a thing.” 

Jim replied, “On my way, Scotty. Kirk out.” He thanked his friends with genuine gratitude and confirmed, “This shouldn’t take long.” 

Leonard had already stretched his legs out across the couch. “No need to worry. Spock can entertain me for however long it takes.” 

“How would I do that, Doctor?” the entertainer in question inquired. 

“The usual way,” said McCoy with a glint in his eye. “Say something I can’t help but find illogical.” 

As a similar challenge entered the Vulcan’s eyes, Jim just shook his head and left the pair to their banter. 

~~~ 

The lights were off in the main cabin when Kirk returned to his quarters. The murmur of voices coming from behind the wall partition that sectioned off his bed told Jim that Spock and McCoy hadn’t actually left, but they had been gone from the outer area long enough that the computer had engaged its energy conservation mode. He strode through the archway, uncertain of what to expect yet at ease enough not to be alarmed, and discovered two familiar silhouettes backlit by a computer screen. 

“Spock, Bones? What are you doing?” 

A woman answered. “Jim?” 

Her voice hit him like a fist to the gut. 

Leonard twisted around to meet Kirk’s shocked gaze but didn’t say anything. He didn’t need to speak because his silence said it all: despite knowing that he had crossed a line, he wasn’t going to apologize for it. 

Spock said, “A moment, please, Ms. Kirk,” before also turning in his chair to face Jim. He explained, “Dr. McCoy has introduced me to your mother, Captain.” 

Leonard cleared his throat and gave the Vulcan a subtle nudge with his elbow. 

Spock amended, “...Jim.” 

“Jim, where are you? I can’t see you.” Winona Kirk said. “You have nice friends.” 

Gritting his teeth, Jim came forward. “I’m not sure I would call them that,” he replied in a dark voice. 

“Jim’s a little miffed at us, Winona,” Leonard cut in, grinning all of a sudden. His blue eyes twinkled charmingly. “But then again, he shouldn’t be so surprised.” 

Spock stared at his companion. “You implied that Jim would appreciate our assistance in taking this call during his absence.” 

Leonard looked right back at the Vulcan, saying primly, “You know better than to trust anything a human tells you, Spock.” 

Spock’s mouth clicked shut. 

It was Winona who let out a peal of laughter. “Adorable,” she said, “the both of them! Oh, Jimmy, why the long face?” 

Jim schooled his expression into something less petulant. “Mom, you didn’t tell me you were acquainted with my chief medical officer.” 

“How could I tell you anything when you’ve been ignoring me?” 

“Winona, I told you,” Leonard began in Jim’s defense. 

“Dear,” the woman interrupted, “I’m old enough to recognize a fib when I hear one.” 

Jim was grimly satisfied when McCoy’s face turned red. He laid a hand first on Leonard’s shoulder and then on Spock’s. “Gentlemen, thank you for entertaining my mother. I’ll take it from here.” 

Spock immediately stood up. 

Leonard was slower to accept the dismissal. “Be nice to your mother, Jim,” he said in warning. 

Jim thought that Bones should be worrying about whether or not his captain was going to be nice to him after this was over. He just gave a sharp nod and sat in Leonard’s vacated chair, not saying a word until Leonard and Spock were out of sight. Then he exhaled slowly. 

“Jim,” Winona asked in concern, all traces of her teasing mood gone, “what’s the matter?” 

He almost said nothing but knew well enough that silence would only be a temporary solution. “How’s Peter?” he asked. 

Her expression softened. “He misses you.” 

Jim felt his grief fill him anew and worked to keep his voice level. “I miss him too,” he said. “Are you… alone?” 

“Your nephew is out in the barn admiring that vintage hover car of your father’s.” 

It was now or never, then. “You asked me to make a decision about Peter, and I have.” 

Winona held his gaze. Her expression remained soft but her voice was unwaveringly strong. “Tell me,” she replied. 

Her son did. 

~~~ 

Kirk must have looked drained when he re-entered the main cabin because McCoy and Spock ceased their quiet conversation and stood at attention at his approach. 

“You always know how to force things, don’t you, Bones?” he said without lingering animosity. 

Leonard stepped closer. “Was it as bad as you feared?” 

“No,” he admitted. “She acted like she already knew.” 

“I’m sure she did,” his friend replied more softly. “She’s your mother, Jim. Winona knows you better than anyone in the galaxy.” 

“Apparently she didn’t raise me to be better,” he said bitterly. He started towards a counter extension beneath his built-in bookcase and the ‘secret’ cabinet therein that housed a few expensive bottles of liquor but stopped short, remembering that his and McCoy’s recent experience with alcohol had not been an enjoyable one. He raked a hand through his hair, disturbed by how lost he felt regarding what to do next. 

“Spock,” Leonard said. 

Spock nodded ever-so-slightly and disappeared into Kirk’s bedroom. 

Leonard took Jim by the shoulders and led him to the couch. 

Jim dropped down to sit and braced his arms against his knees. “This seems backwards. You’re the one who isn’t fully recovered, so why are you taking care of me?” 

“I’ve been too keyed up to relax.” McCoy stared at him. “Don’t tell me you haven’t had the same problem.” 

Jim’s mouth shaped into a faint smile. “Sometimes I think you’re a better mind-reader than Spock.” 

“Nope, just a doctor with access to the sleep cycles of his patients.” 

“Do you monitor my vitals that closely?” 

“I’m required to. You’re the captain.” McCoy leaned in and whispered conspiratorially, “If it’s any consolation, I keep tabs on Spock too, except usually I can’t make heads or tails of his statistics. Damned complex Vulcan biology.” 

“Why thank you, Dr. McCoy,” Spock replied, coming back into the room with a tray in hand. 

Jim smiled when he realized Spock had brought three mugs. Leonard and Jim stayed on the couch and Spock took a chair. 

“Want to talk about it?” Jim was asked once they all had had a moment to savor the flavorful tea, which he suspected was the real version of the imitation provided at the lounge. 

“Do I have a choice?” Kirk asked dryly. 

“We are always here to listen should you wish to share a concern,” came Spock’s earnest response. 

“He means we’re here listening now, so get with the program.” 

Spock quirked an eyebrow. “Doctor, why do you feel it necessary to interpret my words?” 

Leonard shot back, “Because not all of us speak binary!” 

“Fascinating. I was not aware that you had trained in computer science.” 

“Why you green-blooded—” 

“Gentlemen,” Jim broke in, grateful that the atmosphere had returned to normal. “If you will pause a moment so that you might hear others, I do have something to say.” He hesitated before going straight for the bald truth. “I don’t intend to raise Peter.” 

The silence that enveloped the room made Jim wonder if Spock and McCoy decided to take his answer differently than his mother. Why their opinions mattered just as much as Winona’s did, he didn’t know, but doubt crept in and that called forth the buried shame. 

“It’s... not that I’m choosing my career over my nephew,” he fumbled. 

Leonard came to his rescue. “Jim, you don’t have to explain.” 

“You may not understand, Bones.” 

“Who says we don’t?” McCoy snuck a look at Spock. “It’s a relief for us, to be honest. We don’t want to lose you as a captain, and a starship is no place to raise a kid.” 

“There have been times in my life when I considered settling down to raise a family,” Jim said, curling his fingers around his cup, “but right now I’m not the kind of family that Peter needs. Not beyond an uncle, anyway. I can’t replace my brother.” 

“You shouldn’t try. Peter doesn’t need replacements for his parents. He needs it proven to him that he still has family to care about him.” Leonard laid a hand on Jim’s knee. “So there’s nothing keeping you from being close to your nephew, Jim—not even a career in space.” 

Jim smiled a little. “He wants to be a scientist like his parents. I haven’t been able to persuade him to consider a command track.” 

“Science is commendable,” Spock said. 

And just like that, the worst of his confession was over. He looked into the faces of his companions and saw no judgment. Perhaps he should tell them that one of his reasons for choosing to stay for the remainder of the five-year mission was that he already had family—and a home—he could not leave behind. 

Yes, he might tell them that someday. For now, it was enough to be in good company and to return to feeling like the man he wished to be.


End file.
